Maybe It'll Be Okay
by pacattack777
Summary: Karkat is an albino, and with that, life's a little rough


**This is an idea I got from a post by mishitamashi on tumblr and further encouragement/plot sutff from trickster-dave**

**Enjoy! :D**

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Your name is Karkat Vantas and there are many things you could say you hate about yourself in the very least. You aren't the nicest, even when you try to show concern. Your friends are as bad as you are, or they're just down right annoying. But to skip over the other monotonous details of how pissy your attitude is or the fact that you might be one of the biggest assholes there has ever been, there is one thing in particular you hate over all the rest. One thing you couldn't change even if you wanted to. One thing that has been wired into your genetics and mocks you every day of your pathetic life.

Albinism is something you've had to deal with all your life, and might you add its hell in a hand basket.

Things never went well in elementary school, and only worse in middle school. If you thought being short and angry all the time wasn't bad enough, when people found ways to point out and make fun of something as simple as your hair and eye color, you were prepared to punch every one of them in the face. At one point, a few of them even convinced others that it was a disease they could contract if they got near you. Those were the years of solitude you spent alone; not that you could entirely mind. You like not having annoying people surrounding you, but everyone needs someone to talk to every once and a while.

It was only just before your freshman year of high school that you convinced your mom to let you die your hair and get contacts. She wasn't very fond of the idea at first, repeating herself by telling you 'Oh Karkat honey, you shouldn't worry what others think.' Then she would kiss you on the forehead and tell you she'd always love you. But even with those words she could never hide the pity filled smile. She knew you were bullied, she knew it hurt you, and yet she wanted you to stay exactly the same. Sure, you don't care if people don't like your personality- they could go to hell if they didn't, but something about this mutation was different. It almost seems to scare some people. It makes you feel like an alien from a different world, and that feeling was even worse than being disliked. You were hated for something you had no control over. You were teased and mocked for something your genes had imprinted into you.

And so you changed that fact. You hid your hair and your eyes from the world. You had moved right after the eighth grade, so it was easy to start anew. But you still knew, and you hated yourself every time you had to re-dye your hair or buy a new pair of contacts. You scorned your own mind for being so weak as to give into ridicule, but truthfully, you had just become sick of it. Sick to the point where you didn't even want to move out of your room.

Just sick of everyone who looked down on you.

You are only reminded by this fact as you watch the brown tinted water drain down the sink. The stained towel is thrown back under the sink as you look up. Just one more round of forcing your snow white hair to be brown and _stay_ brown; something it apparently doesn't like to do. Even if the box says it'll last you months, it's never more than a couple of weeks before the greyish-white is shining through. It's a pain, but you force yourself to deal with it. At first you can't see anything, but after brushing the freshly dyed bangs from your face, the realization strikes yet another chord in your self-loathing. Icy red irises gaze back you from the mirror, but you can hold the glare as long as you need. After you have spent many passing seconds scowling back at your own reflection, you break the ominous eye contact.

Pulling the drawer next to you open and retrieving a few things, you slam it back shut. The small bottle of liquid and your contact case rests in your hand. You really aren't much a fan of contacts, but it's better than being stared at like a mutated freak or having to wear retarded ass sunglasses. Like that would happen. You've learned good and well that thanks to the glorious examples of your so called '_friends_' Dave and Sollux, you absolutely can't stand sunglasses. You have a pair of glasses because your eye sight is so goddamn horrid, but you really don't like those either. So instead, you opted for prescription contacts.

Blinking a few times, you give a quick glance to your now brown eyes before shaking your damp hair and sliding the bottle and contact case back in the drawer. It's about seven when you enter the kitchen to find a note on the counter right in front of a plate that holds two pieces of toast and a steaming batch of scrambled eggs. Stepping over and picking it up, your eyes scan over the perfect handwriting and the little heart in the bottom corner.

_Had to head to work early. I made you breakfast. Have a great day sweetie! ~ Mom_

You let a sigh escape, crumpling the note and throwing it into the trashcan behind you. You grab the plate only to slump down onto a barstool and nibble at the food until you're full enough to stop. Tossing the remaining food in the trashcan and the plate in the sink; you head back to your room. Your backpacks sits awaiting in the corner of your room which you sling on your back and grab your keys off the bedside table. With all the lights off and the doors locked, you climb into your car.

As of now, you are a junior in high school, and isn't it a joy. Between being surrounded by people you hate and bombarded with work you don't want to do, it is a wonderful feeling to drag yourself to the most glorious place on earth, and any other universe for that matter, and sit through seven hours of mind numbing education you couldn't give a shit about. It also doesn't help that you have no friends whatsoever in your first two blocks.

Now let's clarify something. When you say friends, it's a little vague. It's not that you don't consider these people friends, but you still think that's being a little too nice. Given they are the people that piss you off the most; it would seem stupid that they would be your friends. But they are. And you get to see their shining faces every day. You get to spin tales of sarcasm laden stories and arguments that every one of you knows will go nowhere, but like hell you'll give into an argument.

There's also the fact that no one knows you're little secret. Well no one but your 'best friend' Sollux. But well that was a special coincidence. He also has something to hide. He was a not-so-proud owner of a fine pair of heterochromatic eyes. He often wears contacts just like you, and so neither of you find the need to mock one another. But other than that douche bag, no one knows.

And you try your best to keep it that way.

It keeps everyday monotonous. You go to school, suffer through it, go home, and repeat the cycle the next day. All is the same and nothing ever changes. You couldn't say you mind it, and you certainty couldn't say that when it changed.

Fourth block finally seems to roll around, and that meant Biology. Slamming you books to the table, you sit in the same spot you do every other day. And just like always, your friend saunters in after you and places himself in the open chair to your left. You glance up to be met with hazy eyes and wild hair.

"Hey Gamzee." You mutter before looking back forward again, waiting for the class to start.

Gamzee Makara. Another one of your somewhat friends. You aren't as close to him as you are to a few others, but you've known him for a couple years. He's an okay guy even if you were convinced he was on drugs or _something_.

"Hey there mother fucking best friend." He drawls out in response, and god did he ever not sound stoned? "How's your day all up and going?"

"Same as usual. Pretty boring as fuck."

He opens his mouth to speak again, but just as he starts, the teacher walks in with a loud, bright hello. She begins her lecture about something. Truthfully, you zone out for a good thirty minutes. When you do finally tune back in, she is rambling on about genetics. You have recently been studying DNA and all that confusing mess, and now you just so happen to be on the workings of genes through the hereditary system of your parents. Punnet squares and the whole nine yards. It isn't until the end of class that you really start paying attention. She is calling groups and giving each a topic. When she gets to Gamzee and yourself, she glances down at her list before looking up with a smile and saying.

"Oh this is an interesting one. You boys get to cover a recessive gene allele known as Albinism."

Your heart immediately drops before burning with a fiery annoyance and the need to shout in opposition. But you don't. You bite your tongue and nod gravely.

Gamzee seems more than elated at this fact and continuously goes on and on about how sweet it would be to be 'a motherfuckin' albino as you drive him home with you. If only he knew it was anything but sweet. Having to hide your appearance for the sake of not being ridiculed and teased. Everyone thinks it would be cool until you finally realize how horrid it actually is. You just hope you could get through this project without anything slipping. You didn't need another person to find out about this mutation and end up flipping their shit over it.

When you enter your house, your mom is a little surprised that the lanky teen is following you, looking aimlessly around the room, but once you explain the situation she gives you a wavering look of concern. You merely shake your head a little and lead Gamzee back into your room. You kick a few things to the perimeter of the room before sitting cross-legged in the floor. He's still busy looking around, but you pat the carpet in front of you and tell him to sit. He follows orders as you pull your book from your bag and hand it to him.

"So what do we have to even do? I wasn't' paying attention."

"We have to write a speech."

"Miraculous."

"It will be." He replied with a low laugh, flipping through the book. "So apparently these mother fuckers are called albinodes."

"Albinoids." You correct him without even thinking.

He doesn't seem to hear you though because he simply keeps talking.

"The albinodes have a lack of melanin." He laughs through the last words before looking up. "Heh, melanin, that's a fuckin weird word. What does it even mean?"

"Again, it's albinoid. Not albinode," You repeat with the slightest hint of annoyance in your tone. "And it's a enzyme in your hair, skin, and eyes that produces the pigment. Therefore, people without it are left with pale skin and hair and red or pink eyes."

He stares at you with the usual flat expression before breaking into a grin. "Wow, you're really mortherfuckin smart Karbro. You sure know a lot about this albinism stuff."

"Yeah, well…" You trail off, eyes averting and not knowing where to take the conversation from here. You had spoken without a second thought and now you didn't know how to take your words back. Thankfully Gamzee was probably too stupid to figure anything out.

It's a good amount of time before you look back up only to find that Gamzee has discovered a box on the floor and now has it open. He's picking up handfuls of photos and flicking through them, focusing on each and every one.

"Gamzee!" You shout, outstretching a hand to grab for the pictures, but he holds up one hand and continues looking.

"These are motherfucking awesome."

You fall silent, sitting back a little. "Really?"

He merely nods as he grins down at them.

"I'm thinking about becoming a photographer." You say quietly.

"You should." He responds. "I'd hire you."

You smile lightly, but catch yourself and immediately fall back into a thin lined indifference.

"Thanks, I guess." You say in a tone that feigns insignificance, when this really has flattered you. You feel a little better about everything even from this simple compliment. He may think anything of it, but to you it means something; and you don't know exactly why.

"Hey, can I up and use your restroom?" Gamzee asks suddenly after another passing moment of utter, uncomfortable silence.

You look back up from your lap before nodding a little. "Oh, yeah. It's right across the hall."

"Thanks bro." he replies before pulling himself to his feet and wandering off.

You take your time, flipping through the book and scribbling down much of your own knowledge. You really didn't need to read about it. You had already studied it. Trying to learn more about the thing that cursed you and wanting to know if you could ever get out of it. Of course, it was inevitable that it was permanent. Something that could never be changed. Usually, you would end up getting frustrated and give up. But you still knew more about it than a normal person. It made this project easy.

You had written almost half the speech before Gamzee enters the room again with a box in his hand. With one look to the familiar logo, you stand quickly, snatching the empty hair dye box from his hands.

"Why do you have this? Did you go through my fucking trash?" You hiss, but he doesn't respond at first.

He looks at you with a confused expression, hands now at his sides. "Whoa sorry. Just noticed it's the same brand my mom uses." He takes an upwards glance at your head before grinning again. "I thought I'd seen that color before. I didn't know you dyed your hair."

You could already feel your face growing hot, but you ignore it and try to stay as annoyed as you could.

"I don't." You bark back.

He obviously knows it's a lie when he takes the box back unexpectedly and holds it up to your head. "Nah, it's totally the same color motherfucker."

"Well it's not like I have a reason to dye it. I just like it this color." Your response may be a little too rushed, but he doesn't seem to notice as he just tosses the box to the trashcan beside your desk.

"Whatever, it's all cool. I just thought you up and dyed it white, but I guess brown is good too."

Your eyes widen a little, but you try to remain calm. "What was that?"

He looked over his shoulder, pointing to the doorway. "Out in the hall there's a picture of you and your mom. Your hairs all motherfuckin white."

"Fuck." You breathe out, moving over to sink onto the edge of your bed.

You really had forgotten that was there; you never had people over at your house who didn't already know about you. And now the cat was out of the bag.

"Is something wrong?" He asks, tilting his head and looking at you with curiosity.

"Dammit." You rub your eyes before looking up and taking a deep breath. "You see Gamzee… I'm an albino. I dye my hair and everything."

At first he didn't seem to understand, but then he moves closer and sits beside you on the bed. "That's pretty motherfuckin awesome."

"No it's really not." You snap, eyes clamping shut and head tossed to the side. "People call me a freak and don't want to even get near me because they're afraid I'm diseased or something. No one needs to know about me."

A hand lands on your shoulder which makes you look back cautiously. He's staring you down with a gaze slightly more serious than usual. "Well, I think it's cool bro."

You pause, just looking at him before shaking your head. "No, it's because you've only known me like this. If you saw what I really look like- and not just in a photo, you'd understand."

"Well show me then."

"What?"

"You guys are supposed to have like funky eyes or some shit right?"

You glance away a little, nodding but he leans down to meet your gaze.

"Show me then."

You're very hesitant, but his stare isn't leaving your face. You don't think you've ever seen him this serious about something in a long time, so you comply against your best wishes. Reaching up, you carefully remove both your contacts before moving over to your night stand and putting them in an extra case you had in the small drawer. Sitting back down, you face him but keep your eyes clamped shut.

"Open your eyes bro."

You shake your head reluctantly. Suddenly, there's something warm and callous on either side of your face. You guess it's his hands, but you still can't ring yourself to look at him.

"Come on, just up and do it." His voice was lower than normal, but it holds an almost caring tone. It is slightly comforting and with a few more words, he convinces you.

Slowly, your eyelids slide open and it's extremely blurry, but you can still make out his face and wide eyes. He moves closer, only making his features blurrier.

"Motherfucking miracles…" He whispers and you can feel his breath against your skin.

"R- Really?" You ask, your voice quieter than you could imagine and your face growing hot again.

"Yeah… It's amazing."

Suddenly, your muscles move without your consent. You're inching forward and you can't stop. Before you know what's happening or why, there's a soft feeling against your lips and it's not fighting you. It's inviting and comforting. Something about this acceptance made you feel in a way that was different than the anger you usually held for people. This feels right and so you let the warmth envelope you, you let his long fingers snake into your hair, and you let someone finally see who you really are.


End file.
